


Artistry

by Osidiano



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Sex, Post-Series, Romantic Fluff, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5354711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osidiano/pseuds/Osidiano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt: Trustshipping, "Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artistry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustAWritingAmateur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAWritingAmateur/gifts).



> Quick note on names: in my personal Trustshipping headcanon, Ishizu usually calls Seto "Set," since that was his name in ancient Egypt. She does this because she considers their current relationship to be a continuation of their original romance, just spread across their reincarnations (which is also why I sometimes use Logicshipping interchangeably with Trustshipping). I refer to Ishizu as "Isis" in the narrative because "Ishizu" is the Japanese pronunciation of "Isis." I generally reserve her Egyptian name, "Auset," for stories taking place in ancient Egypt.

If he were an artist, he would capture this moment and frame it forever. He would carve the outline of her limbs in stone and marble, would paint the stretch of his sheets over her body in broad strokes of oil and soft watercolor, would sketch the splay of her long dark hair across her shoulders and the graceful sweep of her bare back. If he were romantic, he would climb into the bed with her and kiss his way up her spine, his mouth drifting to her neck and the shell of her ear, waking her with the most gentle of affections. He would touch her like she was precious, timeless, like he cared for her more than he hated himself.

But Seto Kaiba has never been an artist, or a romantic, or even a particularly decent man at all, so he stays in the doorway, watching. He doesn't trust himself to love her the way she deserves, doesn't know if he's still capable of giving himself over to someone anymore. Perhaps once he could have, before the KC Grand Prix or Doom or Noa's virtual world. Or maybe he was already a lost cause by the time he met her in Battle City. 

She lifts her head then, shifting with a small noise of complaint when her outstretched hand brushes over the vacant mattress beside her where he should have been.

“Set?” she inquires to the room, her normally polished voice sleep rough and muzzy. Seto smiles to himself, a small tight pull of his lips in the dark. He likes this side of her, this perfectly flawed woman behind the elegant goddess he knows her as by day.

“I brought you water,” Seto replies in a quiet, gentle tone. He pushes away from the doorframe to walk to her side of the bed, stopping to set the glass in his hand down on the side table where she can reach it. She reaches for him instead, fingers curling around his wrist and tugging until he sits on the edge of the mattress next to her prone form. Her hand slides up his arm, over the muscles at his shoulder, over the sharp jut of his collarbone, her fingertips teasing his throat in a soft, wandering caress.

His breath catches. She is immaculate and beautiful as always, and even his sullied hands, heavy with the weight of his vengeance and the things he has done, cannot mar her.

“Mmn. Have I entered an alternate universe,” she begins to ask, all drowsy intimacy and playful attraction. His heart skips a beat. “Or are you smiling for me? You _never_ smile for me, Set.”

“Do you believe in alternate universes now, Ishizu?” he asks instead of answering. Isis shifts, tugging the sheet up higher to cover her breasts as she turns over onto her back and smirks up at him with an arched brow.

“About to tell me that's more mystical nonsense?”

“No, there's some science behind those theories. It's why I was so surprised,” Seto teases in return, allowing himself to lean down towards her. Her fingers dance along his jawline, tangle in his short hair.

He is not a romantic. When he kisses her, he does not feel lost or consumed by his emptiness. He feels found.


End file.
